The magic cabinet

ONCE upon a time an ancient county split into two and a new authority emerged known to all as Tescoshire East. In order to secure the popular vote, the small people living therein were promised massive cost savings and they rejoiced.

ONCE upon a time an ancient county split into two and a new authority emerged known to all as Tescoshire East. In order to secure the popular vote, the small people living therein were promised massive cost savings and they rejoiced.

One of the first ‘savings’ introduced by the new authority was to give huge pay offs ‘in lieu of notice’ to favoured servants.

"But how can it be in lieu of notice?" cried the little tax paying people, "when they had two years prior warning?" But the trolls at Tescoshire East were too busy doling out £200K salaries to answer.

Then poverty and pestilence struck and shops lay empty, but while many suffered, other merchants did prosper, but this was lost on the new authority who had fallen into a complacent slumber.

"What shall we do?" cried the destitute people, and a mysterious voice replied: "Go ye unto Sandbach and listen to the Magic Cabinet." And so they journeyed forth through potholes and road works until they arrived at their destination.

"How shall we rejuvenate our towns?" asked the unimportant people.

"Leave it with us," replied the Cabinet. "We shall dispense wisdom."

"Only, we were thinking about a three month trial of free parking like other prosperous merchants have."

Four months later, precisely one month longer than the proposed trial period, the Magic Cabinet pronounced its verdict.

"There shall be no trial of free parking; in fact there shall be no free parking at all, even during Michaelmas."

"And shall we prosper?" asked the merchants.

"Dunno, but we shall," replied the Magic Cabinet, and so they did, for while taxpaying people lost their jobs and homes, it affected them not one jot.

One day a crowd gathered on the town hall steps and asked of the Magic Cabinet: "Where has our property tax gone?"

"Is it eco friendly," asked the ragged peasants and oh, how the Cabinet did laugh for they speak the words of fools.

"Ask not what taxation does for you, but what it provides for us," chuckled the wise Cabinet.

"Where’s his cat?" yelled a small boy gesticulating at the Lord Mayor.

"What cat?" asked the Cabinet.

"Dick’s cat, he has one in every pantomime?"

"This is no pantomime," boomed the Cabinet, fooling no one but themselves.

Then a bedraggled traveller did appear in the town square kicking a football. "Sire, I have dribbled far.

"Then sit and tell us of your journey," replied the Cabinet.

"I hail from the ancient Land of Orange and have walked many leagues over hills and dales before sliding through Bollington."

"Sliding, surely you mean riding?"

"Nay, sire, t’is impossible to ride for the streets have no grit." And the Cabinet nodded wisely for it was their doing.

"T’was a perilous journey through the Kingdom of Macclesfield where I was attacked by drunken chavs wearing Polo by Ralph Lauren and other naff labels."

"Did they not block your path?" asked the Cabinet.

"That they did sire, but I nutmegged every one."

And the people did rise as one chanting, "Rooney, Rooney."

"Pray tell, what brings you to us, Master Rooney?" said the Cabinet.

"Sire, the people request a French market."

"Who are these people of whom you speak," demanded the Cabinet.

"Wilmslow people, sire, orange folk of all shades, even those of a mahogany hue are united in their wish for a French market on the run up to Michaelmas."

"If that be the will of the people then let there be a French market," shouted the Cabinet, and the crowd were gobsmacked for this was the first democratic decision ever undertaken.

"We would like to site our French Market on Grove Street or Little Lindow," said Rooney, and the Magic Cabinet retired to consider.

While the crowd waited, a wicked gang drove into town wielding sledgehammers and did attack the local jewellery store. Terrified shoppers dialled 999 and called for help from the Eventual Police and their calls were not in vain for eventually the police did arrive.

"Evening all," said the chief super. "Sorry for the delay but all our resources were employed apprehending the getaway car."

"And what happened to it?" asked the crowd.

"It got away."

This was indeed a great success for the Eventual Police, for normally the getaway car had enough time to return for another raid before finally getting away.

"But this raid was only 200 yards from the Eventual Police station," protested one taxpayer. "Why did you not arrive sooner?"

"Because no one was at the station," sayeth the inspector, whose nose grew long even as he spoke. "We were all out patrolling the streets."

"Which streets?" asked the angry taxpayer.

"Dangerous streets."

"Like ones that have a history of armed robbery every year around Christmas?" sayeth the taxpayer, but the super did not hear for he departed with fingers in ears chanting, "La…la…la."

Then came a roar of thunder and the gnashing of teeth and the crowd were hushed.

"People of Orange," boomed a voice. "We, the all-wise, all-seeing Cabinet, have approved your French Market for it is important to your trade."

"And shall it be in Grove Street or Little Lindow?" asked Rooney.

"The Magic Cabinet has decided that the best place for your French market shall be… France."

And so it came to pass that there was no free parking or French Market, and stores did close and town centres withered while Tescoshire East Authority fell into a deep sleep lasting 100 years.

And the taxpayers had to kiss an awful lot of frogs before finding a prince.

The views on this page are Vic Barlow's and not necessarily those of the Express